


HeartTorn

by Seven_Shades_of_A



Series: The Renascentia Trilogy [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Learning Magic, Loki & Thor getting into trouble, Loki's Kids, Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase One Compliant, Mentions of genocide, Odinbros - Freeform, Other, Pre-Thor, Secret Relationship, Thor in a dress (Chapter 6), and Freyja trying to get them out of it, attempted rape (Chapter 16), kidnapping (Chapter 13), non-graphic torture (Chapter 14), original character deaths, prequel to HeartBound, shipping tagged as 'other' because Freyja is genderfluid, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seven_Shades_of_A/pseuds/Seven_Shades_of_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is known throughout the Realms that the Vanir cannot lie. But just because Freyja and her people can say nothing but the truth doesn't mean secrets cannot be kept. When Freyja finally decides how her life will play out, the walls of her world come tumbling down as she realizes one universal truth: everything comes at a price. And what she wants may cost her dearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long before Freyja returned to Asgard from her pilgrimage, a small family of Light Elves were visited by a king who set the fate of the Realms on a dangerous path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Marvel nor any characters affiliated with Marvel. However, I do own this rendition of Freyja, Freyr, Njord, all original characters, and my version of Vanaheim. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Updates sporadically, because college isn't practical for writing and editing stories.

"How is she?"

Eira looked up from her back-strap loom by the fire to see her mother, Ysmay, at the door. The young Elf felt a sense of comfort and relief at the sight of her, something about the familiar frost-white hair, fair skin, and dye-stained hands from her work at the tailor's making their small home seem a little warmer. Although Eira longed for the day she would come of age and help to bring a little more money to their family of three, she knew she must stay at home for the time being and watch over her cousin.

"She's as well as ever," the eight-year-old sighed.

Worry filled her mother's brown eyes, "Have the tinctures not healed her?"

"No. The healer said nothing is working. He doesn't know what to do."

She followed her mother into the broom closet where they had made a makeshift room for the baby to sleep in her little wooden crib. The child looked nothing like Eira, or her mother, or even her aunt, but there were still a few small signs that the half-child was part of their family.

The baby was slightly larger than most Elven babes, but she was also a good deal thinner, too. She almost looked emaciated but, no matter how much they fed her, she never seemed to grow any fatter. What marked the child as something other than Elven was her strange blue-black skin and angular features. She did, however, have pointed ears, silvery-white hair, and brown eyes that were distinctly Elven traits. But it was her eyes that truly marked her for who she was. Brown eyes were common, but a golden ring around each pupil was unheard of. Even though Eira had never seen it before, she knew what it meant. It was the mark of a single bloodline in all the Nine Realms: the royal family of Vanaheim.

Eira remembered the baby's father very well. Particularly as he had given her unusual gifts and told her stories she had never heard of. He had been a handsome man, but he had looked just like any other dweller of Alfheim. Later, when he was far away and Eira's aunt had passed away, her mother would mutter about spells used to hide identities.

It was only when the child was born that Eira and her mother found out he had been a Vanir. Eira's aunt had never found out the truth, dying during the birth before she could even see her daughter.

They looked at the sleeping child, marveling at her alarming yet enchanting appearance. The baby had never once cried, never so much as opened her mouth, but was always staring out with far too intelligent eyes.

"How long did the healer say she had?" her mother asked, brushing a hand over the baby's sharp cheek.

"A little over a fortnight," she answered quietly. "Mama, why is she dying?"

"I don't know, Eira. If I knew, perhaps we could do more. But all we may do is-"

They both turned as the faint sound of knocking echoed through the otherwise silent cottage. It was uncommon for visitors to arrive after sunset, though not completely unheard of.

"Perhaps it is the healer," Ysmay muttered. "Let him in, will you, sweetheart."

Eira nodded, walking quickly to the thick wooden door. When she opened it, she stared at the vaguely familiar man who stood before her, only knowing for certain that he was definitely not the healer. She just barely recognized him despite the startling difference he bore from the last time she had seen him.

The man was tall and lean like the sailor's she saw her father speaking with during the trade season and his face was, indeed, weather-beaten. But he was strangely unsightly to the eye, with a lined face that looked as if it had once been handsome. Shining silver eyes ringed with gold stared out at her in apathy.

"Eira, child," he said in the strange accent that was all too familiar. "Where is your mother?"

"Alrek?" she asked, not completely certain whether this man was the same handsome gentleman her aunt had loved.

"Yes. Now where is your mother?"

"Let me get her," Eira whispered, wondering why Alrek had changed his shape to such an unattractive face.

As she walked back to the room where her mother and cousin were, Alrek sat down in a chair by the fire. Her mother turned to face her with a smile as she entered the little cupboard once more.

"Who was it?"

"It's not the healer," she answered quickly.

"Then who-"

"It's Alrek."

Her mother stiffened, her oval face paling. She could see the shock in her mother's face and couldn't help but wonder if she knew the reason.

"Stay here, Eira, and watch Selenda. Whatever happens, do not leave this room."

She nodded, frightened by her mother's sudden change in mood. Her mother walked out of the room to speak with Alrek, locking the door behind her. Eira knew her mother was not fond of Alrek, although she had been once. She was furious at him for leaving. But Aunt Astrid had explained to Eira that she had known he would leave eventually and she was happy to at least have a small part of him to keep to herself. Eira hadn't fully understood what her had aunt had meant exactly, but she guessed it meant that she was happy to have Selenda.

Too curious to sit idly while her mother and Alrek spoke with each other, Eira pressed her ear to the door and listened intently. The voices of her mother and Alrek were just barely audible through the wood.

"-why you've returned," she heard her mother say. "And I'm afraid I'll have to send you away empty-handed."

"Ysmay, she's my daughter, not yours. I have every right-"

"You forfeited your right to her when you left Astrid for your home! Have you no shame? I know who you are, 'Alrek'. I know about your other family in Vanaheim. Leave Selenda here and no one will know of your mistake. She belongs with us."

"I understand your loss, but my child is not Astrid and will never be Astrid. She is a child of two worlds and, as she is my child, I will do with her as I please."

"I know what you intend to do, but she is an innocent child, not a beast! You cannot kill her. I won't allow it!"

"The Norns have told me of the power she will wield, and I will not allow such a tragedy to strike the Realms. You will give her to me or I shall be forced to do something regrettable."

"You think because you are king that you can have anything that pleases you. But you are not my king, and you cannot have Selenda."

"Then you leave me no choice," he said quietly.

Eira couldn't make sense of what Alrek said next, but she could feel the tell-tale crackle of magic in the air. Something hit the ground hard, sending the girl scrambling for the knife her father had given her a year before, back when he had left to trade with the Æsir at the beginning of the spring.

The door clicked as the lock was retracted, swinging open to reveal Alrek. White smoke trailed from his fingertips, causing Eira to back away in fear.

"Eira, put down the knife," he said gently.

"No."

Something flickered in the depths of his silver eyes and he continued forward. He flicked his wrist, causing coils of the white smoke to rush towards her. She shrieked as they curled around her limbs, filling her with weariness as they engulfed her and, within seconds, everything went dark.

When Eira awoke once more, her mind was foggy as if still clinging to the cobwebs of a forgotten dream. She rubbed her eyes blearily and gazed around the room. The shadow of her mother crying over an upturned wooden crib was the first sight to greet her.

"Mama," she said shakily, stumbling closer. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"He took her," she sobbed. "He's taken Selenda."


	2. Chapter One: Returning Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freyja's returns to Asgard after her pilgrimage to find that, while everything changes, some things will always remain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story actually starts before the Freyja-Loki romance and shows how they came to be lovers. Just wanted you to know that. It's said that nothing propels a story forward like a good flashback and seeing as there's going to be a lot of chaos in the last book, I decided you needed a little of the backstory. I hope you all enjoy.

 

_"Why do you go away? So that you can come back? So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors? And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving."_

-Terry Pratchett

* * *

Njord didn’t know it then, but the child he had brought home with him to Vanaheim would not always be who he saw in the visions. The choices he would make would prove to shatter the possibility he had seen. That is the trouble with the future. The most imperceptible of changes in the present alter it drastically, the change flowing through time like ripples in a pond. And so the royal family of Vanaheim was pushed onto a very different path than what Njord had seen. But he could not have known just how she would alter the future.

Freyja, as Njord had deemed to rename her, did not stay in Vanaheim as her father wanted. She was a wayward child in his eyes. And there was so much about her home world which she felt was disagreeable. She found the strict, empty life which her father had constructed for Vanaheim to be tedious, much too dull for the setting in which it took place. In a world of rich colors and attributes that flooded the senses, the style of the people was dismal in comparison. So she had run to the Realm which was spoken of reverently throughout the whole of the Yggdrasil: Asgard.

She had been drawn to the Realm Eternal like a moth to a flame. In the end, she found a world starkly different from that of her own. Where Asgard was gloomy in comparison to the warmth of Vanaheim, life was much more radiant and dazzling. The Æsir were driven by their emotions to such an extent that their passions overflowed into every aspect of their lives, and this was what Freyja loved the most about them. But, then, she had been torn away from the lifestyle she had grown accustomed to for the coming of age pilgrimage that was required of her people.

For nearly two years, she had visited a handful of the Nine Realms to learn about each race, as was the tradition of her people. Despite her cool and collected demeanor during such travels, she had been eager for her return to Vanaheim where she knew she would state her intention to become the ambassador to Asgard. And now she was on a ship back to the Realm Eternal, slowly closing the distance between her and her first true friends.

She bit her lip to keep from asking once more how much longer it would be until they arrived. Although it was faster to travel by Bifrost, the procedure always left any Vanir who traveled by it with a severe case of nausea that lasted for days. This, she knew, was due to the amount of auric energy stored within the rainbow bridge, placed within the large slab of diamond by millions of Vanir as a gift of good faith after the war. This was why it shimmered with various hues of color. As she hadn't wanted to spoil her return to her home away from home, she had opted for the longer journey.

The only downside to this was that it gave her that much longer to wonder about what might have changed in her absence. Though time passed differently between the Realms, she could be certain that very little would be the same. Asgard had a tendency to move quickly, which had much to do with the fact that they were not naturally immortal and prone to mortal combat, in Freyja’s opinion. Would any of her friends still be as she remembered them?

“Freyja,” a familiar voice called. “Freyja, are you in there?”

“Leave her alone, will you?” another voice chuckled. “She's in the midst of deep thought.”

Freyja opened her eyes to see her brother and Animi, both in Asgardian form, arguing good-naturedly. Animi favored a tall, lean form with wind-swept cinnamon hair and soft features whereas her brother preferred a slightly broader build with ginger curls so that he might somewhat resemble her. Both had their hereditary silver eyes, the one feature the Vanir could not change. But Freyr's had a single ring of gold around the pupils.

Animi smiled at her, “I'm sorry to disturb your thoughts, but we are but a few minutes from Asgard.”

She returned his smile and stretched in her seat. Silver coils of auric energy wrapped around her as she transformed from a dark-skinned, dark-haired Vanir to an ivory-skinned Asgardian with flaming red curls. Neither of the men so much as blinked at the change.

“I understand,” she sighed. “Precisely how long will it be until we reach the hold?”

“Exactly three minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” her brother answered.

She nodded, knowing that once the ship reached the hold, it would only be a matter of seconds before they stepped out into Asgard. She longed for the time to go faster, as her patience was beginning to wear thin from her excitement.

Animi placed his hand over hers, stopping it from moving, as Freyr got up to speak with the pilot. She hadn't even realized she'd been drumming her fingers against the arm of the chair until feeling the warmth of his touch. Her gaze lingered on his hand before she met his eyes.

“I've never seen you this anxious, Freyja.”

She gave a soft sigh, “It has been a long time by their standards - almost five years! I just worry how much has changed since then.”

He smiled softly, “I know Prince Thor will not have changed.”

She laughed at the thought, knowing he was most likely correct, “No, I doubt he has changed any. It's his brother that concerns me.”

“I'm sure Loki is the same courteous trickster as you’ve described him to be.”

“I hope you are right…”

Freyja and Animi stood up as they felt the ship land softly in the docks. They walked over to where her brother stood by the doors to wait for the door to slide open. She let the boys walk out of the ship and onto the docks first, cautious and somewhat afraid of what awaited her. Taking a deep breath, she descended the stairs, knowing that she would wait for an eternity if she didn't.

The sunlight was brilliant after the dim light of the ship. Freyja had to blink and wait for her eyes to adjust to the light, but the warmth of the rays was a welcoming change from the cool of the starship. A crowd of Vanir and a few Æsir had gathered to greet her and her brother, as news among her people spread quickly. She scanned the figures gathered close in search of the one person she wanted to see most.

Her eyes finally fell upon a man she barely recognized as the boy she knew. Loki had grown surprisingly taller in the years that had passed, but his bright green eyes, short-cropped dark hair, and playful smile had stayed the same. She noted the lean muscles that now spanned the length of his body, wondering when he became interested in something he had ignored when she knew him. Though she couldn’t say they did him any injustice.

His eyes lit up when he met her gaze and she smiled in return as she walked slightly faster than before, feeling his joy at her return radiate through her mind. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see her brother talking with the warrior maid, Sif. If she had been paying full attention, she would have noticed her brother smiling at her joy, but she remained unaware of his happiness. All her attention was on Loki as she reached him. They stopped a mere few feet from each other, as Asgardian courtesy dictated, but she could feel that they both were barely holding back the impulse to pull each other into a tight hug. Instead, he took her right hand to his face and barely brushed his lips over her knuckles.

“Princess Freyja,” he greeted, the new soft, deep timbre of his voice surprising her. “It is a delight to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Prince Loki,” she replied, sticking to the formalities he had almost mockingly used.

From behind Loki, an even deeper voice called, “Stop your trifling, Loki, and let me see how time has affected our Freyja.”

She looked over his shoulder to see his elder brother, Thor, coming forward with a broad smile on his face. Time had affected him greatly. While Loki was long and thin with wiry muscles, Thor was slightly taller, thicker-set and as muscular as an ox. With them so close to each other, she was struck by the fact that they were near polar opposites. And though Thor was the golden prince, it was Loki who radiated with pure warmth towards her.

“Prince Thor,” she sighed, pulling her hand gently from Loki's. “Obnoxious as always, I see.”

He bowed and took her hand, kissing it as Loki had, “I prefer to think of it as pride.”

“Which is Thor's way of saying arrogance,” Loki grinned.

Freyja chuckled as Thor turned to his brother, tone sarcastic, “Very amusing. I'll leave you two to your prattling - there’s a prince I must see.”

With that, he left to speak with Freyr, who she knew would be able to entertain him better than she had. Her brother had always had a knack for keeping the impulsive prince of Asgard preoccupied. It was a skill she had yet to gain, not for lack of trying, and Freyr refused to explain how exactly he accomplished such a feat. Loki shook his head at his brother and turned to face her.

“If you wish, I could give you a tour of Asgard,” he suggested. “Much has changed in your absence.”

He offered her his arm and she took it after sparing Animi, who was quite busy speaking with the Warriors Three, a glance, “I would be honored.”

Both made their way through the crowd, which parted easily for the prince and princess as they walked out. Freyja took in her surroundings, comparing them to the Asgard of her memories, and was relieved to find that it wasn’t unrecognizable. But Loki had been correct in saying much had changed.

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, “who was that Vanir who walked out after your brother? He certainly doesn't look familiar.”

“His name is Animi, and you have never seen him because this is his first time in Asgard. He's a close friend of mine and has decided to return with me.”

He nodded in understanding, “Then I hope he enjoys his stay. But do enlighten me as to what you have been up to of late? I have had no word from you since you returned to Vanaheim.”

“I'm sorry I haven't been able to write recently. I've been far too busy between preparing for my becoming ambassador and gaining my mastery of magic.”

He smiled, “That's three new rings for you to bear, if memory serves. May I see them?”

She raised her right hand to show the two newest rings she had recently gained. One, the one on her middle finger, was made of platinum and had a wolf engraved on its surface and the other, which she wore on her index finger, was made of copper and had smoke curls engraved into it. They gleamed in the sun as he took her hand and turned it to inspect them.

“Master of magic and ambassador to Asgard, but that is only two,” he noted, letting go of her hand. “Where is your title ring?

She gave him her left hand to show the silver ring with a graceful hawk in mid-flight etched onto it. A small smile graced his lips as his gaze wandered across it in thinly-veiled curiosity. He had always found the Vaniric tradition of wearing rings to be a fascinating one. As a child, he had been disappointed that he and Thor would not receive their own sets, especially when their mother still wore hers.

He squinted at the symbol on its surface, “Allow me to guess, will you?”

She laughed, “Of course.”

“Hmm…god of elegance? Refinement? Poise? Charm?” he suggested, a pensive expression on his face. “Have I got it?”

“Close,” she said, grinning.

He bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, “Allure? Desire?”

“Beauty and love,” she told him, feeling a slight blush rise in her cheeks.

“Damn, I was so close,” he sighed in mock irritation. “But how does a bird symbolize love and beauty.”

“There is no love purer than that which a bird has for the sky,” she told him. “And nothing more beautiful. Am I allowed to guess your title?”

“The possibilities of my title are not as wide in range.”

“I am not all you guessed,” she pointed out.

He snorted, “If you believe such…”

“Are you the god of…jests? Illusion? Mysteries? What about persuasion?”

“God of mischief and lies,” he laughed.

“Of course you are,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “At least you know of your subjects. I haven't the slightest idea what it is to be in love.”

“That is a half-truth and you know it. The reason you were chosen for such is because you express love towards everyone, you allow everyone a place in your heart And everyone loves you for it in return.”

“But should the god of love truly be someone who has never been in love?”

“Your form of love is deeper than any romantic love,” he replied, his tone solemn before he looked at her with a grin. “Besides, do you truly not know?”

She turned to face him fully, “What is it that I am supposed to know?”

He looked shocked to the point of disbelief, “Surely you know the rumors.”

“Rumors?”

“The rumors that you are the most beautiful person in all the Nine Realms and all who lay their eyes upon you either fall deeply in love or become mad with envy.”

She was silent for a second, making Loki wonder what she was thinking, before bursting into laughter. Loki watched her in confusion as she tried desperately to stop.

“Loki,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I have never heard something so utterly ridiculous.”

“Do you not think yourself as beautiful?” he asked in astonishment.

“I acknowledge that I am…striking in some manner, but I am not as beautiful as that. I hardly invoke love or lust upon first sight.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? The proof is in the number of admirers you have. How many men have asked for your hand in marriage?”

She grimaced suddenly at his words, “Too many for my taste. And the worst is that my father approves of many of them.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Surely your father does not approve of every suitor.”

She thought about that for a moment, “Only the Asgardians and Vanir, but that is still more than enough. I don't know what to do. Animi and I have made a deal that if I find no suitor whom I can come to love, we will marry simply out of practicality.”

“You would marry someone you do not love?” he asked, taken aback by the statement.

“I love Animi, but it is the same love I have for you. Besides, I would rather marry someone whom I can think of as my friend rather than my prison. He would never ask anything of me, and I would never ask anything of him.”

“Isn't that a little saddening? To be forced to marry someone you do not properly love simply because your father requires it?”

“The alternative is to be shackled to someone I have no emotion for at all.”

“What will you do when he asks for children?”

“He won't,” she answered simply.

“And of your marital duties?”

“He won't ask for those, either,” she said with a small, knowing smirk.

“Is there something I'm not seeing?”

“He won't ask me to share his bed,” she said in a scandalous tone, “because he favors no one.”

“What?”

“That's the beauty of the whole arrangement. He favors no one. That is why we made the agreement. He would never ask that of me because he does not find anyone attractive in such a way and so knows I would extend him the same courtesy.”

He shook his head while he laughed, “So you would spend eternity married to someone who secretly favors no one to escape marriage to someone you do not love?”

“Exactly,” she replied. “And we would be free to take any lovers or other romantic partners we may find.”

“You are a very strange person, Freyja.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

He was silent for a few minutes, then got an idea, “Would you like to see Warrior's Square?”

Her eyes lit up with delight, remembering the fond memories she had of the place, “Of course.”

He led her through the streets and past the people who milled through the shops, taverns, and other buildings. As they walked, the architecture changed from simple and angular to large and ornate, their purpose transforming from practicality to aesthetic decoration.

Warrior's Square was a large, circular courtyard surrounded by shops of elaborate armor, lavishly decorated food, and a famous winery and alehouse. A large, opulent fountain of gold and copper sat in the center. Crystal streams of water spouted from the horns being played by the statues of Light Elves, dwarves, humans, Vanir, and Æsir. When they had been young, she, Loki, Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three had spent many mornings in this place. They had been times of easy laughter and friendly squabbles. She was glad to see it had changed very little.

Freyja gasped at the sight of the lamplights sparkling across the water in the shadows of the setting sun. Loki watched as she walked in circles, taking in everything she could. He enjoyed watching her response when she came across something beautiful. For a reason he could not guess, she treasured things she found stunning or even charming, and would do anything to make sure it was not sullied. But the look of wonder and nostalgia on her face was worth the trouble.

She sat down on the edge of the fountain once she had regained her composure and ran her thin fingers across the water, never breaking the surface. He sat down next to her and touched the water, green tendrils trailing from his fingertips to the liquid. White frost spread across the surface, following the tendrils. The green coils dissipated as the ice covered the entire surface. There were small, spiraling patterns to be seen in the white.

Freyja looked impressed, “I see you have been practicing.” – she barely tapped the frost - “I've never seen an Asgardian wield magic with such tenderness and control. Who continued your studies?”

“My mother. And a Vanir by the name of Lennart, when she did not have the time. But I spent the majority of my practices alone.”

“And your astral projections?”

He frowned, “I have yet to learn that.”

“I suppose it makes sense for you not to have been taught yet, it is a difficult lesson.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but a call interrupted him.

“Prince Loki!” a guard yelled, running up to the two.

“Yes, Radhulf?” Loki sighed, a tint of unhappiness in his tone.

“Lord Prince, Lady Princess, I would not interrupt you if the matter was not of import. Your father, the King, wishes to speak with both you and your brother.”

“What about?”

“He did not say, Lord Prince.”

Loki sighed once more before turning towards Freyja, “I know it is rude of me to leave you so suddenly when you have just returned, but will you be alright if I go?”

“Of course. There is someone in the palace whom I shall visit while you speak with Odin.”

He gave her a final doubtful look, but stood up anyways, “Alright, to the palace it is.”

She stood up and walked beside him as the guard walked off. Though he, too, had been returning to the palace, he had taken a different route. It was out of courtesy, no doubt, and Loki appreciated the gesture.

“Who is this someone you wish to see?” he asked suspiciously.

“Jealous of my attention, are we?” she teased. “If you must know, I wish to see Ottar. He still works in the kitchens, does he not?”

Loki laughed, “Yes, as it happens. He has been up to his ears in work since your return was announced.”

She shook her head with a smile, “He always did try to make everything perfect for me…”

“He fancies you.”

“He does not.”

“Do you not see how he looks at you?”

“According to you, everyone looks at me in the same way,” she replied.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he fancies you,” he said one last time as they walked through the gilded doors of the palace, unable to allow her to have the last word when he felt he was right. “I trust you remember where your chambers are.”

He was looking for an excuse to talk with her a little longer, that much she could tell. Whatever Odin wanted to speak to him about, he obviously thought it could wait, but she didn’t want to be the reason he got into trouble.

“You think me forgetful?”

“Of course not. I'll either meet you in the kitchens or at your door when I have finished. I have a surprise for you, after all.”

“What sort of surprise?” she asked as he walked off.

“One you will enjoy,” he called back.

She stifled a laugh at his vague answer, wondering what he could possibly have in store. Knowing Loki, it could be anything, although it’s most likely extravagant. One thing she enjoyed about him was the unpredictability of his gestures. But she did not want to linger on the thought too long and waste her time, so she turned down the hall to her right which would lead her to the kitchens.

The kitchens were always one of Freyja's favorite parts of the palace. They were comprised of several interconnected rooms, often times linked by shared pantries. People were always bustling through the place in attempt to cook the next meal for the royal family. It was a place of life and creation. She enjoyed the sights, sounds, and smells that greeted her in that busy place.

She walked into the first room, which was apparently for cooking meats, and was immediately greeted by several of the cooks. She prided herself on being on a first-name basis with most of the people who worked in the palace. It was important to her to treat everyone, regardless of status, as if they were her friends. Many of them were, anyway.

“Welcome back, Lady Princess,” a few stopped to say as she walked by.

She nodded her head slightly at the people who greeted her, a gesture which was a sign of respect in Vanaheim. It was very seldom that the Vanir bowed to anyone besides their own monarch. When, or more often 'if', a Vanir bowed to another being, the gesture was taken as the highest honor. The Nine Realms knew of the Vanir's pride, and respected the race that often kept peace between the peoples of the Realms.

It wasn't long until she recognized the head of blonde curls leaning over a large mixing bowl in the pastry room. She smiled as Ottar hummed a tune she did not recognize, taking in the differences. He was younger than her by a year, though just slightly thinner than most Asgardians, and yet he was just as tall as Thor.

“Loki tells me you've been quite busy of late,” she said, causing him to jump. “Please tell me you've not been overexerting yourself just for my brother and I.”

He spun around, slate-grey eyes sparkling as a smile lit up his face, “Not just for you two. You are aware of the fact that you're not the only one of royal blood in this castle, are you not?”

She laughed at his teasing tone, embracing him despite the fact that she would get flour and sugar on her silk dress, “It is good to see you again, my friend.”

He let go and backed away slightly, “I have something to show you.”

“It seems everyone has something to show me.”

She waited patiently while he gave a soft laugh and dug through the innumerable trays of cookies, cakes and pastries of all sorts. Finally, he picked out a small white box and pulled a star-shaped cookie from it.

“Taste it,” he implored, handing it to her. “It's a new recipe, and Loki is partially to thank for it.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. Anything partially involving Loki was more than likely to spite the receiver. She had long since learned not to accept gifts from the raven-haired prince unless she was entirely certain they was harmless. Though he never pulled anything hurtful when she was his target, he wasn’t above making the treat taste foul.

“I already checked,” he laughed, recognizing her suspicion immediately. “There's nothing wrong with it.”

She put it to her lips and hesitantly took a bite. A familiar flavor filled her mouth, far too rich to be any Asgardian ingredient, and contrasted greatly with the soft taste of the butter cookie. The citrusy taste mingled with the more muted flavors of Asgardian spices, but Freyja could immediately name the taste.

“It's solinatio, is it not?”

“I knew you would recognize it. Do you like it? I've made three batch for the ball.”

“It's delicious, but solinatio can only be harvested within two days before it sours. The cost of it here is too high for your salary. How did you manage to obtain them?”

“I told you, it was-” he stopped midsentence as he thought. “Has Loki shown you his present?”

“Not yet. Why do you ask?”

“By Odin's beard, he's going to skin me alive,” he said worriedly, nearly dropping the box of cookies.

“What are you speaking of?”

“I can't tell you,” he said, turning to the oven. “He'll have my head if I do.”

She rolled her eyes, “Alright, then. Now tell me, what was it about a party that you mentioned?”

“A ball has been planned in honor of you and Prince Freyr returning, as well as your coming of age. It is two and twenty for the Vanir, correct?”

“Yes. Though I suppose it will be more of Freyr's party than mine, as he is the one who will be inheriting the crown come the winter solstice.”

“I will never understand why King Njord would relinquish the throne so quickly,” a voice behind them said.

Both turned to see Loki strutting through the shifting crowd of chefs towards them. He smiled when their eyes met, though there was an apologetic edge to his expression.

“Forgive me for eavesdropping,” he said as he reached them. “Your voices carried down the halls.”

Freyja shrugged, “It does not matter. What was it Odin wanted?”

“He simply presented an idea, it was nothing of importance,” he said with a shrug. “Ottar, you don't mind if I steal her away, do you?”

“Not at all, my prince,” Ottar replied with a bow.

Loki smiled gratefully, wrapping an arm around her shoulders so that he could turn her around and walk out. He walked quickly out of the kitchens, barely giving her time to shout back a farewell. The young baker chuckled as he watched the two leave.

“Loki?” Freyja asked as he continued to lead her along.

“Yes?”

“What was it that Odin wanted?”

“I already told you,” he said, a displeased frown tugging at his lips.

“There's something you're not telling me.”

He sighed in resignation, “Father wishes Thor to ask for your hand, as you will become of marrying age tomorrow.”

She grimaced, “Lovely.”

“What is your opinion on the matter? You are the subject of debate, after all.”

“I love Thor as if I do my brother, and I know he feels the same. And I'd prefer if people wouldn't speak of me as if I am a prize to be won.”

Loki gave a soft laugh, catching her attention.

“What is so amusing?”

“Thor said the same thing, except not in such a calm manner.”

The gleam in his green eyes spoke of quite the outburst from his older brother. She had witnessed Thor’s temper on occasion, occasionally even being on the receiving end of them, and knew exactly what could come of it. The thunderer was renowned for his short fuse, after all.

“Of course he did,” she laughed. “Now, tell me, where are we going?”

“You shall see soon enough,” he said, pulling a green silk sash from his pocket.

Her eyes widened slightly, “No. I will follow you wherever you take me but I will not go blindfolded.”

“Whatever is the matter? Scared to put your trust in me?” his teasing smile faded slightly. “Is this to do with…does it remind you-?”

He stopped as she turned her eyes away. Her past was something she didn’t like to talk about, but Loki knew well what demons waited there. In the past, he had gone out of his way to make her comfortable, to make sure she never felt that way again.

He gently placed two fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face to look at him again, “You know I would never do anything to hurt you, but this is ultimately your choice. Do you trust me?”

She looked into his deep green eyes, knowing the answer already, “With my life.”

She could see the slight surprise in his eyes at her answer. He knew that a Vanir's trust was just as difficult, if not harder, to gain than their respect. His lips tugged into a smile as he thought over the words.

“Then this will be acceptable?”

She gave a nod and his entire posture seemed to relax. He placed the thick material over her eyes and tied it so that it wouldn't slip out of place. She couldn't see anything past the fabric, but she said nothing of the faint disorientation she felt. He put both hands on her shoulders, guiding her from behind, and they began to walk off.

As he led her through the palace to where his surprise was being held, Freyja attempted to construct a mental map of where they were going. Using the turns they took and the stairs they ascended, she tried to narrow down the possibilities of where they could possibly be going, but such an endeavor for that large of a palace was no easy feat. Before she could lower the number to three hundred possible rooms, Loki stopped dead.

“I'm very aware of what you're doing, by the way,” he said.

“Are you?”

“Yes, and let me inform you now that it's not going to work.”

“And why would that be?”

He suddenly spun her around several times, too quick for her to protest. By the time they stopped spinning, she had lost track of their orientation completely. A frown crossed her lips at his actions.

“That would be why,” he answered smugly.

Freyja fought the urge to protest the simple trick but knew it would do little to influence him. Deciding against looking into the future, she discarded any ideas of trying to glean any information on the surprise. He laughed at her resignation, the gesture more harmless than demeaning, before starting off again on their journey through the palace.

“Can you not at least tell me a hint as to where we are going?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“You would be able to guess if I gave you a hint. Now where is the fun in that?”

She sighed again, but was actually quite apprehensive as to what it might be that he was showing her. They climbed numerous stairs, walked down many empty corridors, and turned far too many times to discern where they were going.

“Are you deliberately taking a complex route to throw me off?”

“Now there's the legendary Vanir wisdom I've heard about. I was beginning to believe you were the exception. Now enough questions. We're almost there.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line, now trying to think of what Loki could be up to. One last staircase and he paused to open what sounded like two very heavy wooden doors. He walked her through, always keeping one hand on her shoulder as he pushed the wood, and closed the doors behind them.

“Do you recall when I asked you why you never mentioned your name-day?”

“Yes?” she answered, wondering where he was going with the conversation.

“You told me it was because the Vanir only celebrate the name-days that symbolize a great change in one's life. I always felt sorry for you because you were forced to watch Thor and I receive gifts year after year while you spent your name-day going through your usual schedule.”

“And?”

“And I finally found a way to compensate for all those years you received nothing. You once told me that you came to Asgard because you didn't feel quite at home in Vanaheim. Despite your unhappiness, you were always homesick here. I could hear it when you spoke of it.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything. Every word you ever uttered, I recall with perfect clarity. I will never forget.

“While you were away, I wanted to plan some form of surprise for your return. I found inspiration in your stories and the idea formed. It took me years of haggling to gain everything I required. I now have something extraordinary for you. Think of it as twelve years' worth of name-day gifts.”

He then untied the blindfold, walking around until he stood beside her. Freyja blinked a few times for her eyes to adjust to the bright light of the room. Loki had apparently illuminated the room through magic making quite difficult to see after the darkness caused by the blindfold.

As her eyes adjusted, she looked in surprise at the sight that greeted her. He watched in gleeful relief as the shock became clear on her face.

“Happy Birthday, Freyja.”

“Loki – by Sophossentia…”


	3. Chapter Two: Unwanted Stories

_“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”_

-Andre Breton 

* * *

Had the surprise been anything other than what it was, Freyja would have been able to tell Loki just how grateful she was. But there were no words for this. She attempted to comprehend what she was seeing, but it almost didn't seem possible.

It was a garden. A glass-roofed garden that held several varieties of Vaniric flora, plants that shouldn't have been able to grow in the Asgardian atmosphere, and yet they filled the room until it looked more like a forest than the inside of the palace. The impossibly bright shades of the plants stood out in deep contrast with the night skies above. It was what she had always looked for: the beauty of her home within the vibrant life of Asgard.

She took a tentative step forward, almost afraid it would disappear if she moved. By all rights, it shouldn't have been possible, and yet a little piece of her home stood before her. Loki watched her carefully, a smile playing across his lips as a hundred different emotions were displayed on her face. He remembered the times she had told him of how she missed her home, but preferred the liberation of Asgard. Now she could have a little of both.

“This is – what did – how did you…?” she couldn't seem to speak as she took in as much as she could of the small paradise.

“There's a florist in the village who occasionally trades with a Vanir,” he began, smiling ever wider at her reaction. “I managed to work out a deal with her. It took quite a while, as she was a bit hesitant to relinquish what has always only belonged to Vanaheim. But she agreed when I explained what they were for.

“I was shocked at the first few plants she sent. When you said the hues would be beyond anything I could imagine, I didn't actually think you meant it in a literal sense. It makes me wonder…if this is what your flora looks like, what must the rest of your world resemble.”

“Loki, this is – this is remarkable.”

“Do you like it? I'm not sure if everything is ecologically correct, I sort of patched all of them together in one place, but I did manage to obtain at least one specimen from each biome.”

“How could I not love it? No one has ever done anything of this sort for me.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

She examined one of the trees with chocolate-brown bark and shining golden leaves, “How did you manage to stabilize each one?”

“I adjusted a few spells until I was able to accomplish my goal. The entire atmosphere in this room has been modified to maintain these plants. Which brings me to the question I’ve been hoping to ask. Is the air in Vanaheim this…invigorating?”

“Yes,” she answered, picking a fluorescent pink fruit from one of the bushes and tossing it to him. “Although, it is heightened in this room due to the sheer amount of condensed energy.”

He looked at the fruit warily, causing her to laugh. Despite having watching over the garden for three years now, he was still cautious as to what he touched or ate, especially as their were so few books in the library regarding plants. And valued his life more than his curiosity.

“It's perfectly edible,” she said before pausing to think. “On second thought, that may actually be too much for your palate.”

He looked after her skeptically, taking a second to rest the fruit on a low-hanging branch, as she began her search for something else.

“What are you insinuating?”

“Asgardian food is, to put it bluntly, quite bland in comparison to the food we eat in Vanaheim. You're accustomed to such, so the food we consume may be far too rich for your tastes.”

“Are you saying we are tasteless?” he asked in mock offense.

“Those are your words, not mine,” she laughed.

As she walked through the rows of different trees and bushes, Freyja felt the strange sensation that someone was watching her. Loki had remained standing on the edge of the tree line, completely out of sight. She glanced around quickly, scanning for a sign of life, when she just barely heard a young boy's voice.

“Keep quiet. You know Father said not to come in here. If he finds us…”

“Hello?” she called into the emptiness.

“Who are you speaking to?” Loki asked as he walked towards her.

“I'm almost certain I heard someone.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, shaking his head. “No one knows of this place except us. I made sure of it.”

“Loki, I can feel their presence,” she pointed out. “And so would you, if you were paying more attention.”

He narrowed his eyes, scanning the foliage for the people she was certain she had heard. His face softened immediately when his eyes stopped at a fairly thick shrub covered in flowers that were a violent shade of purple. When Freyja examined the bush, she found that three pairs of curious eyes were staring back at her.

“Hela, Jormungand, Fenrir,” Loki sighed. “What did I tell you about this room?”

Three children, two boys and a girl, stood up and walked dejectedly towards Loki. The first boy, dressed in all dark grey, had a solemn face with raven black curls and solemn green eyes that seemed to take in more than they revealed. The other boy had slightly lighter hair, almost verging on brown, that was cut in a style similar to the one Thor had once sported, he had a crooked grin and matching bright eyes that seemed to perpetually be laughing.

The girl’s appearance was what truly caught Freyja’s attention. Although very beautiful with her long shadow-black hair and pale blue eyes, her face was marred as half of it was ash-grey and stretched too tight against her bones. Her raincloud skin and slightly sunken eye only extended to the edge of her nose, giving off the illusion that she was half dead. Freyja had never seen anything like it.

“Father,” the girl said in a soft voice. “Is she the one you told us about?”

“Of course she is,” the cheerful boy snapped. “Who else could she be?”

The quiet boy elbowed the first, making him rub his side with a scowl. So close to each other, had they not seemed to be polar opposites in personality, Freyja might not have been able to tell them apart.

“Father?” Freyja mouthed, turning to Loki.

Loki nodded, picking up the young girl so that she could wrap her arms around his neck, “Freyja, allow me to introduce you to my children. This is Hela, and the twins are Fenrir” - he gestured towards the somber boy - “and Jormungand.”

“Father neglected to tell us you were so beautiful,” the quiet boy, Fenrir, said.

Freyja stifled a laugh at his matter-of-fact tone, “Thank you.”

“I thought Vanir had dark skin and dark hair,” Hela said, eyes wide with interest. “Yet you look like us.”

“Hela!” Loki exclaimed.

“It's alright,” Freyja laughed, taking the girl from his arms. “I can't very well walk around in my true form. The sight of me would scare any Asgardian into an early grave.”

“Really?” Jormungand asked, voice dripping with curiosity. “Can we see?”

She stiffened slightly at the idea, and Loki could feel her discomfort at the subject. He gave the boy a stern look, silencing him immediately. Freyja, now over her initial unease at the request, was surprised at the idea that Loki was a father.

“So where is the lucky lady and why haven't you introduced us yet?” she asked, nudging Loki slightly.

“Mama's not with us anymore,” Hela whispered, burying her face in Freyja's shoulder.

She gave Loki a shocked glance, mouthing, “She left?”

He shook his head and whispered, “W-I-D-O-W-E-R.”

Before she could reply, or even respond, Hela spoke up.

“You smell of wildflowers…and the sea. It’s nice.”

Loki began to laugh at Freyja's surprised expression before saying, “Alright. It's late and, I believe, well past your bedtimes.”

“But it's just after dusk,” Jormungand whined.

“Off to bed,” he said firmly.

Freyja let go of Hela, who immediately went running after her brothers, and turned to Loki. He shook his head slightly as he watched them leave, a fondness in his smile that she had never expected to see on his face. It was quite the sight. She had never quite imagined Loki as a father, although she knew he was fond of kids, and it was not something she expected to find upon her return.

“You never told me you were married,” Freyja said in a mock accusatory tone. “All of those letters you wrote and you conveniently left that information out?”

“I would have told you if I thought the notion wouldn't send you running back here to attend the wedding. I didn't want to disrupt your travels. Your father would have been furious.”

“Nevermind my father,” she said. “I would have loved to have attended.”

“You were going through the trials of an ambassador,” he replied. “My interruption would have set you back entirely. I didn’t want that.”

“Who was she?” she asked, sitting down on the grassy floor of the room.

“A woman named Anganboda, although most called her ‘Angrboda’ for her temper. She was an amazing woman - you two would have gotten along very well. I married her roughly four years ago - by our time, mind you - and barely a month later she was pregnant with Jormungand and Fenrir. They keep me on my toes, those two do. Fenrir is easy-going enough but Jormungand causes enough mischief for the both of them. If he were any more like me…Father would string us both up by our ankles.”

Freyja laughed softly, “He certainly seemed lively.”

“Anni always said he would be the troublesome one. A year after the twins were born, we were expecting Hela,” he paused slightly before speaking again. “None of the healers are quite certain what went wrong. She was so ill in the last few months of the pregnancy. Eir and I did everything we could, but I lost her the night Hela was born.”

Sensing his grief, she took his hand in hers and cupped it around her cheek. It was a common gesture in Vanaheim, one which was meant to convey that one’s sorrow was felt by others, and Loki smiled as he recognized it Freyja wondered what it must be like to fall in love, to start a family, then to lose a part of it. She imagined it would be something akin to losing Freyr. The very thought made her stomach twist, especially as he was the only blood relation who she considered to be her family. But Loki distracted her the next second as he pulled his hand away, taking her own in his, and pressed a kiss to the top of her knuckles.

“It seems strange to me that you were married and had children,” she admitted. “Frigga and Algrim must be thrilled.”

Loki's bittersweet smile quickly fell, leaving Freyja’s blood cold at the sudden change. She could feel his guilt and unhappiness rush off him in waves. It was an incredibly uncomfortable experience, a combination she had never felt before, through him or otherwise. She felt her own smile fall as she racked her brain for what could possibly be wrong.

“What's the matter?” she asked, using all her strength to keep her voice steady. “I should think they would both be pleased to have grandchildren. You know Algrim always thought of us as his family.”

“Freyja,” he started hesitantly. “Algrim…Algrim is dead.”

The emotion was indescribable. She could have learned every language in the known worlds, and she still would not have been able to accurately describe what she felt.

“What?” she managed to gasp after she collected her thoughts. “That's not – How?”

“He died six years ago. He betrayed Asgard, nearly killed Father.”

She exhaled slowly, trying to reign in her own grief. Algrim, who would sing the long-lost songs of his people to her when she had nightmares, who would take her to the best seamstresses in Asgard for new dresses for special parties - and to tailors and blacksmiths for formal armor when she decided she’d rather be a boy for a week or so, had been the closest thing she had to a true father. The tall, slim Dark Elf who had reminded her so much of her own people, despite his golden robes and Elven features, had always been there for her. He was a man she would always idolize, and now Loki was telling her he died a traitor. She simply couldn't process it.

“You neglected to mention that in your letters,” she whispered, unable to say anything else.

“I didn't know how to tell you,” he looked at her, eyes pleading for her forgiveness. “I killed him, Freyja.”

Her eyes shot to his, “You…killed Algrim?”

“I never meant to. I thought Father was dying, and Thor was going to spare him, and the sword was right there, I couldn't-”

“Loki!” she snapped, her grief fading to worry as his words grew faster and a look of pain crossed his face.

She took his hand again, trying to put an end to his rambling. His near-incoherency frightened her, as he had always been good with words. They were his gift. He could sell bottles of smoke, spun to sound like some miracle cure, to kings if he wanted to. To see him becoming inarticulate frightened her.

“I need you to tell me what happened, from the beginning,” she said emphatically. “I can't make sense of what you're trying to tell me unless you calm down.”

He sighed, taking a deep breath to steady himself, “Forgive me. It still affects me, no matter how many days pass.”

Freyja waited patiently, watching as he tried to look calm and collected and poised. She hated when he felt he had to hide behind a mask. It reminded her too much of her own people, but it was a habit he could never entirely break when his world was steeped in necessary diplomacy and politics.

“You remember, no doubt, how Thor was never allowed off the royal grounds. Thanks to Sif, he grew tired of sparring with the Einherjar and, of course, dragged me along for a quest. We stowed away on the  _Thunder Runner - you remember,_ Hogun’s old ship - and were led to an inn not far from the borders of Asgard.”

He smiled half-heartedly, nudging Freyja gently with his elbow, “You were right about their stories, by the way, the stories the Warriors Three used to tell. I suppose that means I owe you ten silvers, and Thor owes you thirty.”

He glanced at her to see if he had succeeded in lightening the mood only to find her looking back at him morosely. He sighed inwardly, wishing he wasn't the one who had to tell her exactly how and why the one man she thought of as family had been killed. Then again, had it been up to Thor, the results would have been disastrous. So he continued with his story, watching her face carefully until he came to Algrim's death, where he couldn't seem to meet her gaze anymore.

When he had finished, she remained silent. He watched as she searched his face for a sign of something he could not yet fathom, desperation clear in her face, and he couldn’t seem to look away anymore. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks as they both hoped to find what they were looking for. Then without the slightest warning, she threw her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him close to her.

For a second, he hesitated. Her actions surprised him and he couldn't help but stare at her in shock before finally returning her embrace. It made sense, he supposed. After all, she had once told him that he, Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, Algrim, Frigga, and her own brother were the only people she considered family. Losing a man who was a father figure to her must have been painful, painful enough to seek solace from the man who murdered him in the first place. She shuddered as she sobbed into his shoulder, her fingers digging into him as though afraid she might drift away were she to let go, and he carded his fingers through her hair in hope of giving some form of comfort.

“Forgive me, Freyja,” he whispered.

“I don't blame you,” she breathed back in the language of her people, cementing the sincerity of her words. “I don't blame you…”

* * *

  _“Tell me, Freyja,” the voice said softly. “What has hurt you so?”_

_She looked up into the dark eyes of Algrim, unable to name the new face of her tormentor. There were no dreams for her people, only memories. He would know that her fears and unhappiness were not irrational. And, as much as she wanted to confide in him, she was physically incapable of doing so. No one could speak of Thanos unless not doing so would put others into danger._

_“Please, princess. I cannot help you if you do not allow me to. Was it the  city children?”_

_It wasn’t the immediate problem she faced, but certainly a common one. She latched onto it quickly, her mind going through several half-truths she could feasibly tell him, though she hated to keep things from him._

_“I hear them speak of me when they believe I'm not listening. I hear their whispers, the names they call me,” she breathed, burying her face in his golden robes._

_“Shh, it's alright. They are just words,” he muttered as he embraced her._

_“Am I an aberration?”_

_“No. Listen to me, Freyja. I need you to pay complete attention to what I'm saying,” he said as he pulled her back slightly to look in her eyes. “This is the way Asgardians are. They fear what they know nothing of. Those children, they have not been taught properly. Give them time, and they will find themselves to be wrong about you. Be patient and you will see it for yourself.”_

_“You speak from experience?”_

_“Yes. Believe you me, things will get better.”_

_She smiled through her tears, hugging him tighter than before, “Thank you, Algrim. You always know what to say.”_

_“You're most welcome, princess. I will always be here for you,” he answered. “Always.”_

_“I love you, Algrim.”_

_“I love you, as well.”_

Thunder echoed through the room, rousing Freyja from her sleep. She sat up, eyes roaming the room for the familiar surroundings to remind herself where she was. The memory of Algrim clung to her like cobwebs, refusing to leave her thoughts. Loki’s tale had dredged up the old memory and now it stung like a venom.

Lightning flashed from outside the window, causing her to jump as the room lit up temporarily. She stood up and walked towards the crystal door that led to her balcony. The rain poured down in sheets, obscuring the stars completely with thick, grey clouds. With a sigh, she turned away from the window.

There would be no rest for her that night, she knew, and she pulled her dressing gown on over her white chemise. Lighting the candle in the silver chamberstick, she walked out of her room and down the halls of the castle. Wandering seemed like one of the only things that could help at the moment.

While she walked, paying very little attention to where she was going, she thought about her first months in Asgard. The children had been foul to her, even Thor at the time, and she could even feel the adults' worrying gazes. Very few Vanir lived outside of Vanaheim, and the people of the realms had been uncertain as to how to react to the creatures described only in their wildest stories. Not to mention that the customs which she was used to contrasted so greatly with those of Asgard.

Fear was the main reaction, fear towards what the Vanir were capable of. It was quickly followed by disdain when they found her to be quite friendly. Only Loki, who was far too curious to pass up the opportunity to actually learn about the Vanir from a source beyond his mother, was brave enough to even approach her out of all the children in Asgard. And while Loki became her first true friend, it was Algrim who decided to look out for her as if she was his own daughter.

It was strange that he, the last Dark Elf in existence, was able to actually get her to become comfortable around the Asgardians. Even Frigga had been unable to gain a single word from her until Algrim had told her to trust the Queen. And it was only after she began to see Odin's advisor as family that she became friends with Thor.

Shortly after she had befriended Thor, Frigga became the mother Freyja never had. It was then that the people of Asgard began to warm up to her, knowing that the Queen's approval overruled all stories that caused them to fear the girl. Though their Queen was a Vanir, they knew her to be a kind soul, and saw her judgment of character as the most reliable. A little after that and the stories reached Vanaheim, causing a few more of her people to chance a stay outside their home world.

And now she was known throughout the realms for her forgiveness and compassion, the former being a trait Algrim helped her with. It seemed surreal that he was now dead, slain for treason against Odin, when she had always known him to be tolerant. It almost seemed wrong. It conflicted so starkly with Loki’s story, but she knew that he would never lie to her.

She sighed, exasperated and overwhelmed with what she had been told. First, that Loki had married and fathered three children, then that Algrim had betrayed Asgard and died by the Elderstahl's flame. Not in that particular order, of course, but it didn't much matter. Her thoughts and worries swirled around in her head like a tempest.

She stopped suddenly, turning to her right to face the metal doors of Odin's Vault. Wondering what in her subconscious had brought her down into the tunnels beneath the palace, she opened the doors and entered the chilly room. She could name almost every relic inside Odin's much-coveted Vault of treasures, each one bought, stolen, or traded to reach their now permanent home. At the far end of the room, the source of the cold that permeated the room, the Casket of Ancient Winters sat on its pedestal, guarded by the now dormant automaton known only as the Destroyer.

Freyja frowned at the reminder that the Destroyer, once a gift from her people, had been used for warfare until fairly recently. It had been the last gift given by her people, as the Nine Realms always abused the gifts of the Vanir. It seemed that her people could do nothing to share their creations without one world or another paying the price.

But it wasn't the Casket or the Destroyer that caught Freyja's interest, but the Sword of Surtur itself. Loki had explained that it had been confiscated from a Jötunn who attempted to destroy Asgard with it not three years after it was returned. The Jötunn had been acting on his own without the jurisdiction of King Laufey and war had been averted. But the sword remained in Asgard since. As she walked closer, the chill of the Casket gave way to the heat that radiated off the Fire Ettin’s sword.

She hadn't told Loki that she knew of the sword, nor had she told him that Surtur had originally stolen it. She hadn't mentioned that it had been forged by the dwarves for a prophesied warrior maid who had yet to come, but the Fire Demon had taken it before it was finished and infused it with his power instead. But to tell him such would be to betray her people, as the story was tied into the clandestine prophecy of _Renascentia._ And doing such a thing would kill her, as was stated by her oaths.

She cringed as she thought of the foretelling of her own death. Although she had  long since accepted it, it still bothered her that she had a date marked specifically for her before she had even been born, an outcast in the Realms long before she knew she was one. Shaking away the thoughts of the prophecy, she reached out for the hilt of the sword. She couldn’t explain her actions, and she would later recall the memory as if under a spell, but it almost seemed to call to her.

With one quick motion, she unsheathed the sword. Bright flames burst to life around the blade, dancing against the enchanted silver. She watched the tongues lick upward and into the air, knowing well that the sword was said to corrupt all who wielded it, with the exception of its destined owner.

“Elderstahl,” she whispered out loud, remembering the tales told of the weapon. “You bare a name you were not meant to have, an name which wrongly describes you. Do you recall your true name, I wonder.”

She trailed off, looking at the blade once more. As she watched the patterns created by the flames, it came to her. She knew she had never heard it before, and yet it seemed strangely familiar, like a word whispered in a crowd and just barely heard. Like a dream of a lost memory.

“ _Sorsauctor_ ,” she said.

At its name, the sword flared silver. The flames, instead of blazing upward, ran down to the hilt, enveloping her arm in a strange off-white inferno. With a cry of alarm, she dropped the sword and backed away until she was across the room from it. The sword clattered to the floor, flames extinguished completely. The room was silent once more.

She examined her arm, only to find it unscathed. It was a miracle her skin was not charred and she couldn’t help but marvel at why this was the case. With a final glance at the sword and a flick of her wrist, Elderstahl flew back into its sheath on the pedestal. She turned briskly and fled the room, wondering just what had happened, and yet too afraid to seek out the answer.


	4. Chapter 3: Unseen

_"Don't waste your love on somebody who doesn't value it."_

-William Shakespeare

* * *

 

 

"Ouch!"

"Sorry, milady," Aileth muttered as she attempted to pin up another curl of Freyja's hair.

"Must you pick the most difficult one?" she protested, wincing as her appointed chambermaid pulled her mess of curls a bit too roughly. "It would be much easier for both of us if I had a much simpler style."

"Your father the King gave specific instructions to ensure that everything goes perfectly," Aileth replied, giving the princess a sympathetic expression. "A king's orders are absolute."

"He is not your king," she muttered, hoping this new handmaiden might be alright with bending the rules if shown her lady was alright with it.

Instead of nodding in understanding, the girl paled visibly at the thought, "It's not my place to say." 

Freyja sighed. Another Asgardian terrified of the stories of the mysterious Vanir who could manipulate the world to their whim. Regardless of how many of her people had come to Asgard, there would always be stories told to scare the Asgardians. And if there was any Vanir about whom the stories could be true, it would have been her father. She wished he hadn't decided to come to Asgard for their party. She was always expected to be infallible when he came for his short visits. Unfortunately, the nineteenth name-day of his two children required a visit. This was the single reason behind why Freyja sat in the chair before her vanity table, having her hair slowly pulled out of her scalp solely for the purpose of accomplishing a nearly impossible braid.

"There is a simpler way to do that," a calm voice said from behind them.

Freyja raised her eyes from the vanity table to the mirror so that she could see Queen Frigga standing in the doorway. She wore a simple dress the color of crème, shimmering diamonds lined the hems to create an almost liquid effect as she moved. Her blonde curls were pulled up into something vaguely reminiscent of an old Vaniric style. It was in those rare moments when the Asgardian Queen revealed a glimpse of her true heritage that Freyja was reminded of how Frigga was, in fact, a Vanir.

"My Queen," Aileth exclaimed as she quickly turned and bowed to her.

"Queen Frigga," Freyja said as she turned. "To what do we owe this honor?"

"Is it a crime to pay the Princess of Vanaheim a visit on her birthday?" the queen asked with a teasing smile. "Besides, you neglected to say hello when you returned yesterday."

"Forgive me," Freyja implored, a smidgen of guilt bothering her as she realized she had truly forgotten to visit the one woman she could ever deem to be a mother figure. "I was preoccupied."

"I should have known Loki would whisk you away the second you set foot on land," she said with a laugh. "But, now I wish to speak with you."

"Of course. Aileth, you wouldn't mind allowing us a moment alone, by any chance?"

"As you wish, princess," the strawberry-blonde girl said with a bow.

The Vanir watched as she walked out of the room, closing the door tightly behind her. The second the click echoed through the room, both Frigga and Freyja's posture relaxed slightly and a sense of familiarity filled the silence. They always kept up appearances when in view of another, but neither could fight the informality that came with practically being family.

"Do forgive me if I cannot meet your eyes," Freyja said as she returned to the mirror, "I must remove these pins before I lose feeling in my head. I'm not quite sure what Aileth was attempting. Or what my father was asking for."

"Allow me," Frigga said, pulling out a few pins as she picked up a brush with her free hand.

Freyja watched as the Queen ran the brush through her hair, pulling what seemed to be random strands of her hair up and braiding them into others. Though she had watched many of her maids style her hair, the actions had always been stiff and automatic. To see the same act done with a tenderness and care was almost foreign to her. Frigga smiled when she noticed Freyja watching intently.

"Attempting to learn how to do this yourself?"

"No one's ever actually taught me," she admitted. "What with my being royalty, my father wouldn't hear of it. But I believe it would be easier if I learned."

"Your handmaids never taught you?"

"They were too worried of angering my father."

Frigga shook her head, "A Vanir should know how to take care of themself, regardless of their status. Your mother would have put an end to such ridiculousness."

Her face turned solemn as she looked from the Queen's reflection to her own. The Queen's face was painted in a muted mourning, but Freyja could not fully empathize. She had never known her mother and so was unsure of her feelings for the woman who might have raised her had things turned differently. She had simply been a fanciful fantasy Freyja wondered about when she was feeling particularly unhappy. She wondered if it was wrong to feel untroubled by her own mother's death. It had always worried her that she felt nothing towards the woman except for curiosity towards what could have been.

"Is it wrong," she asked suddenly, "to not feel mourning towards the mother I never knew?"

Frigga stared at the girl in shock before regaining her composure, "I'm not certain as to-"

"I'm sorry," Freyja interrupted on impulse. "I should not worry you with such thoughts. Now tell me, what does Odin feel towards being a grandfather?"

The Queen gave Freyja one last concerned glance before giving a forced smile, deciding to leave the subject alone, "He retains the same views on children as when Loki and Thor were born. Although I believe him to be exasperated at the fact his younger son offered him grandchildren before his eldest."

"Forgive me for my boldness, Lady Queen," Freyja said, knowing Frigga would understand. "But Thor is not particularly favorable to have around children, let alone to father and raise his own. He is neither patient nor flexible, and both are necessary for handling children. And although Loki is many things, I must admit he does have the makings of a good parent."

"You seem to have put a lot of thought in this," Frigga noted with a smile. "Looking forward to marriage, are we?"

"Children, yes; marriage, not so much."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, "You do not wish to marry?"

"I wish to marry a man I actually enjoy spending time with. As I am the princess, I'm afraid I'm not allowed that luxury. I fear I will be forced to endure several outings with suitors my father approves of. Suitors I would rather have no business with."

"It is not so terrible, Freyja. Many of my closest friends married men they did not know well. All of them have grown to love their husbands and are quite happy in their families. Marriages of love may be spreading to the rest of the people, but it will take the longest to reach the nobility."

"What of you and Odin? Was it an arranged marriage?"

Frigga paused in thought before answering, "Odin and I were thrown together purely through circumstance. We never realized we would walk down a road which would eventually lead to the alliance of the Vanir and the Æsir. It was luck and fate that landed us here."

"You were lucky, then," Freyja muttered. "I would be grateful to find such a love for someone."

Frigga gave the princess a bittersweet smile as Freyja's eyes stared down at the floor. The Queen looked up at the young woman in the mirror and she sent a silent prayer to Sophossentia that the girl before her would find her love. After all, she deserved it after all she had lived through under her father's care.

* * *

 Laughter and chatter echoed through the candle-lit room, causing the golden walls to seem alive as shadows danced across them. Nobles of both the Asgardian and Vaniric races filled the spacious ballroom, all dressed in their finest silks, furs, and leathers. Men sported their best armor while women paraded around in gowns of silk, satin, and lace. Those who weren't dancing in pace with the orchestra in the corner were either sitting at the tables in the adjoining room or standing about in small groups intent on making conversations.

Two gleaming thrones, one silver and one gold, stood at the head of the room, each seating two regal men. The one sprawled across the golden throne was none other than the white-haired Odin Borson in his gilded armor and helmet. And although the All-Father gained much attention, it was the man who sat next to him that seemed to interest the majority of the people who shot glances up towards the thrones. The man whose very presence seemed to demand the onlooker's attention sat perched on the silver throne as if he wasn't the least bit comfortable. With hair as black as the midnight sky and silver eyes reminiscent of stars, he seemed to simply radiate of something not of Asgard.

Despite his Asgardian and almost elderly appearance, King Njord could not help but be acknowledged by all. If his visage was not enough, his liquid-like platinum robes and sharply pointed silver crown, which was shaped to resemble a crown of brambles with thorns as long as his fingers, marked him as King of the Vanir. Just barely behind his left shoulder, in a burgundy leather jerkin and a navy cloak, stood none other than Prince Freyr. With his blonde curls and gold-ringed eyes, he seemed to fit in well next to Prince Thor, who stood at his father's left.

Freyja watched from a shadowed corner, a smile crossing her face as Thor and Odin bickered quietly while trying not to attract attention in doing so. In her cobalt silk gown and silver circlet, she couldn't help but attract as many stares as her father, but she did what she could with subtle enchantments and hiding in the forgotten corners of the room. She resented the rumor that she was the most beautiful maiden in the Nine Realms and wanted nothing more than to disappear, as Thor undoubtedly wished as well as he straightened up with a sullen expression.

"Avoiding your guests, are we?" the familiar low voice asked from beside her.

"Not necessar-" she started before stopping short when she turned to face Loki, taking in his appearance.

She had been aware that he, along with Thor, had chosen his official color as well as his armor design while she was away, but he had refused to tell her any details in their letters. It was some ridiculous ruse to keep it a surprise. And, by Sophossentia, was it a surprise. She allowed her eyes to travel up from the black boots, across the gilded chest plate, to his helm crowned with rather large horns that reached high over his head before curling around towards the back. As she examined his choice in armor, she wondered what exactly she had been saying before.

"Thor says I resemble a cow," he said before she could so much as form a statement.

She bit her tongue to keep from laughing, tearing her eyes away from the curved horns protruding from his helmet to meet his eyes.

"Ridiculous. Cows do not sport horns that curve in such a manner."

"Thank you," he exclaimed appreciatively.

She grinned as she gently prodded his side, "Goats, on the other hand..."

"Now you're just being cruel," he laughed.

"I'm not chastising you, simply noting that horns would not have been my first choice."

"Would you have preferred feathers?" he said, gesturing towards Thor.

She gazed up at Thor, who was giving his best equivalent to pouting, "Honestly, I simply cannot picture you in feathers."

"It truly is a shame that your people do not share this custom. I would enjoy seeing your choices."

"Silver, cobalt silk between dark brown leather, and some form of wolf for the helmet."

He raised an eyebrow, "A wolf?"

"In memory of our she-wolf legend," she answered, smiling when he nodded in recognition. "By the way, do tell me what happened to Sif's hair. Last I was here, it might have well as been spun from gold thread."

"I altered it," Loki answered simply, a crooked grin gracing his expression.

"I can tell that much. What drove you to such?"

"She was constantly pining over Thor," he muttered darkly. "It was making me ill. He refused to notice her, and she knew as much. So I gave her a way to capture his attention."

"I must question your sanity on that one. You were either extremely brave or incredibly foolish to change Sif's blonde hair to black."

"I sheared it off first," he noted smugly.

"Loki!" she cried in disbelief, turning to face him completely as her expression was torn between horror and amusement.

"The Vanir here couldn't magic it back, and it turned to ebony when it finally grew back on its own. It is, by far, my most elegant work of magic."

"It is quite a feat," she conceded grudgingly. "I'm surprised, however, that you still stand before me after such an act."

"She came after me with a labrys, nearly took off my head. It was quite a sight."

"You and your antics..."

"So tell me, why is it you refuse to dance at your own party?"

She quickly looked to the floor, muttering under her breath.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I don't know how to dance."

He glanced down slightly to meet her eyes skeptically, "You don't know how to dance?"

"Not in the way your people do."

"I could teach you."

"And I could make an utter fool of myself in the process," she scoffed.

"Princess Freyja," he announced in a mock formal tone, bowing in a ridiculously extravagant manner. "I will be greatly disappointed if you do not honor me with a dance."

"Then I'm afraid you shall be gravely disappointed," she said, setting her jaw stubbornly.

"Please?"

She tried to keep her eyes trained on anything but Loki, as she knew he would be gazing at her in a pleading way that was reminiscent of an underfed hound. And she knew she would give in if she met his green eyes. She could feel him staring at her even as she avoided his gaze. With a single break of resolution, she spared him one glance and finally crumbled altogether.

"I suppose one dance won't hurt..."

A genuinely pleased smile flashed across his face and Freyja was almost taken aback by the boyish glee in his expression. She placed her hand in his as he led her out into the center of the room, the grin still plastered to his features. Many eyes fell upon the two, but Freyja ignored them, focusing more on trying to look like she knew what she was doing. As Loki led her into a slow and simple dance, he spared the crowd a glance.

"It seems I have suddenly become a target of great envy," he laughed. "Figures that they are only envious because of you. Now, follow my lead and try not to look down."

Freyja tried to do as he said while he lead them into a slow rhythm, but couldn't help chancing a few glances down. Occasionally, she missed her step and he grimaced as his foot was trodden over. But he did not complain and, soon, she found she could return to their conversation without needing to worry about making a mistake.

"You need not concern yourself with their envy for long," she told him. "It won't be you that they'll envy by the night's end."

"I'm sorry?"

"These people will not be envious of you for long," she repeated.

"What are you planning?" he asked, taken aback by the words.

"Freyr was kind enough to tell me which suitors have attended. I have been observing them."

"And?"

"And I find all of them to be highly unsatisfactory."

He raised an eyebrow, "Worse than Thor?"

"Exceedingly," she agreed. "It is this reason that Animi and I have decided to go forth with our plans."

"Animi will propose tonight?"

"My father will declare that Animi has an announcement. He will then propose, we will marry and I will be spared the dull life I would otherwise have."

Loki was silent for a minute before asking, "Will you truly spend your life in such a way?"

"If I find someone I truly love in the future, then perhaps I will welcome them into my life. If not, then I will be content knowing that I am married to a man who at least holds a place in my heart. I will know I can trust him, both to love me as he would his family and to accept whatever decision I might make."

"You would welcome a lover?"

"I see no reason not to."

"And Animi would be perfectly content with that particular fact?"

"Animi would be thrilled and would, no doubt, constantly invite them to dinner every other night," she laughed. "He wishes me well, Loki. I'm incredibly lucky to have such a friend."

"It still seems strange to me."

"I'm sure it would, but you cannot help it. You are, after all, an Asgardian," she pointed out.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked in mock offense.

"I simply meant it is difficult for you to comprehend our customs, despite your mother sharing them."

"Keeping a lover while married is a Vaniric custom?"

"Well, no...but it is common practice. A short of unspoken agreement. Romantic love does not just have to be shared between two. It can be shared among three, four, any number of people."

He shook his head with a laugh, "It is a good thing most of my people cannot understand Vaniric, or half the court would be scandalized."

Before she could retort, a familiar hand rested on Loki's right shoulder. Their dancing came to an effective stop. The smile fell from Loki's face, looking over his shoulder at his brother, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of peaceful diplomacy when he realized Thor wasn't alone.

"I told you they'd no doubt be found together," Thor chuckled to the handsome blonde next to him. "Attempting to steal her away, brother?"

"A person cannot be stolen, Thor, much less a person like Freyja," he answered curtly. "I was teaching her how we dance."

"I heard the Vanir could not dance," the blonde man said. "I wasn't sure whether to believe it or not."

"We dance, that I can assure you of," Freyja said to him. "It is simply very different from yours."

The man was a bit shorter than Loki, but he had the usual broad build and strong jaw typical of the Asgardian people. Unlike the Asgardians, his skin was almost an ashen ivory , his hair more of a platinum blonde than the usual honey and wheat hues, and his eyes seemed to be a mix of grey, blue, green, and amber that was both intriguing and compelling. He was an attractive man and seemed to radiate with both confidence and humility at the same time.

"Forgive me for the misunderstanding," he said in a voice that reminded her of Vaniric wine, honey-sweet and smooth to the palate.

"Freyja, this is Lord Merek, son of Ulric. Merek, this is Princess Freyja of Vanaheim."

He took her hand as Loki let go of her, bowing down to press it to his lips. Instead of kissing her knuckles, the way most of Asgard would have, he pressed a kiss to each ring on her hand. There was a sort of quiet interest in his eyes when he straightened up.

"It is both an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Princess," he stated. "The rumors do not do you proper justice."

She blushed, "The pleasure is mine, Lord Merek."

"Please, just Merek is more than sufficient." – he turned to face Loki – "If you two have finished, I would be greatly privileged if the Princess would treat me to a dance."

"Ask the Princess, herself," Loki said with a wan smile. "I do not own her."

"Of course, where are my manners?" he asked, looking appalled at himself. "Princess Freyja, would you consider indulging a man with a dance?"

"I would, thank you," she answered with a smile. "And do not bother yourself with titles. If I am to address you with informality, it would be rude to expect you not to do the same."

"Your modesty is inspiring, my lady. Please excuse us, my princes. I would not wish to waste the princess's time."

And with that, he led her away from the two brothers. As she glanced back at Loki one last time, Merek spun her around and broke their gaze. His hand barely brushed the base of her spine, the touch lacking the familiarity of Loki's, but still present enough to give the message to any others within the hall that this moment was his.

"You look exquisite in such a gown, Freyja. How is it that no man has whisked you away for themselves yet?"

"Such an eloquent and flattering gentleman," she replied, deciding to play his game on her own terms. "I'm surprised no woman has claimed you for her own yet. Or, at the very least, made it obvious that no other woman may have you."

He laughed, tilting his head back slightly as he did. It was a full-bodied laugh that seemed to light up his expression with a sort of vivacity that hadn't been visible before. But he soon straightened himself and found his composure, glancing around at those who were now staring, a blush forming high on his ears.

"To answer your question," she continued. "I believe many men were discouraged by my father."

"Ah, yes," he said. "The King is quite the fear-inspiring man when it comes to your suitors. One young man was attempting to ask for his blessing earlier this evening, but he was sent scurrying away in fright with one stern look."

"That certainly sounds like my father."

"I have heard strange rumors of you, Freyja. I hope you don't mind me clearing a few of them. I would hate to look upon you with the lies of the public on my mind."

"You may ask whatever you wish, Merek. I would rather share uncomfortable truths than spread lies."

"I have heard a rather cruel story that you are not truly a daughter of Vanaheim, as you have neither the silver-ice eyes of your people nor the gold ring of the royal family."

It was a question she had been expecting him to bring up. In a family so prominent in the politics of the Nine Realms, much speculation had been placed surrounding her claim to her ties given her eyes. When eyes were the only outside indicator of the Vanir, at least to the outside races, it seemed odd that she should have eyes of an impossible blue when her brother and father sported silver and gold-ringed irises.

"There is no doubt in my mind that I am the daughter of Njord and Van," she told him. "The enigma of my eyes is due to the illness I was born with. The remedy the Healers used caused my eyes to turn this shade. You can see the gold ring when I look into the future."

"Interesting. It seems you are a source of both beauty, intelligence, and mystery - a truly enthralling mix."

"And here I thought Loki had a well-oiled tongue. It seems you have him at a stand-still."

He laughed once more before saying, "Well, it has been a true delight, Freyja, but I do not wish to keep your other suitors in anticipation. Thank you for the dance."

"You are most welcome," she replied before he bowed and walked away.

She turned around to see Animi making his way through the crowd towards her.

"And who was that you were dancing with?" he asked.

"Merek Ulricson," she replied. "Apparently a friend of Thor's."

"He was handsome," he noted in their mother tongue. "If you ever find he's not interested in women, or interested in more than women, do be generous and send him my way."

"He's not a bauble to give and take at whim," she laughed.

"Are you saying that you may have a lover but I must content myself with no one?"

"Do you wish to anger your future wife?"

Animi laughed, knowing she was playing along in good humor. She returned his smile, but he was quick to sober.

"When will your father announce the proposal?"

"Very soon. Nervous?"

"Not particularly."

"That makes one of us."

He looked at her worriedly, "If you do not wish to do this, Freyja..."

"No," she said adamantly. "I will go forward with this."

He nodded, knowing she truly didn't want to discuss it anymore.

"Thank you for doing this," she said suddenly. "I know you were the one to suggest it, but I truly cannot thank you enough."

"You're welcome. You know I would do anything for you."

She entwined her fingers in his, extremely grateful that he was willing to do this. She couldn't imagine what she would do without him.

* * *

 "Congratulations," Loki said, offering her a polite smile.

The two stood at one side of the room, watching as people congratulated Animi at winning her hand. They had already offered Freyja their congratulations at her new announcement and, now, all she wanted was a moment of peace.

"Thank you," she answered, fiddling with the new platinum ring on her finger.

"Do you think your new fiancé will mind if I steal you away?"

"To where?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"I wish to speak with you where we won't be overheard."

"I highly doubt he'll mind," she conceded.

"Follow me, please."

He turned and sauntered out of the room, leaving her to spare Animi one glance, and a silent conversation, before following him out. She wondered idly where he was taking her, knowing only that it wouldn't be within the palace walls.

She summoned a light coat through magic as they walked into the crisp night air. The Asgardian sky was peppered with constellations and the two moons, lighting the night brightly in a way that Vanaheim never would. As they made their way through the villages, she began to voice her questions.

"Where are we going, Loki?"

"To the Bifrost."

She gazed at the back of his helmet in surprise. The Bifrost was the one place they had snuck out to when they were younger, often bringing tea and snacks as they exchanged stories from their cultures. It, along with the waterfall in the Western Woods, was their place. Though anyone could come to it and see whenever it pleased them, anyone other than Freyja and Loki wouldn't have understood the significance of it. Not even the all-seeing Heimdall.

When they had reached the crystalline surface of the rainbow bridge, they continued until they were halfway down its length. Loki sat down on the edge, allowing his long legs to dangle over the side, neither of them fearing the possibility of a fall. They both knew Freyja would catch him with magic should he slip. She sat down next to him, wondering what he wanted to talk about. He answered her silent question with a question of his own almost immediately.

"Are you alright?"

"Why would I not be?"

"You just agreed to marry a man you consider no more than a friend."

"So have many others."

"You are not the same as them, Freyja. And don't bother to try to deny it. We both know the truth."

She gave a weary sigh, "I can assure you, I've thought this through completely. Why does it bother you so?"

"You're my closest friend, Freyja. I don't want to see you unhappy, especially in a life forced upon you."

"I'll be fine," she muttered.

"You don't want this, I can see it in your eyes."

"I already made it clear that I prefer this to the alternative."

He shook his head with a snarl, "Why do you allow your people to rule over your life in such a way?"

"What choice do I have? No matter what I choose, my father will make certain I am married to someone. I would rather have at least some power over my life."

"I just wish there was something I could do," he sighed angrily.

"Sometimes, we must acknowledge that there is nothing we can do."

He sighed, "You deserve better."

"Fate gives us what our actions call for in reward."

"You have done nothing that warrants this 'reward'."

"Why must you argue with me over something neither of us can change?"

"Because it angers me. As it should you."

She nodded, "It does, but not near as much as it would if I did not have this choice."

"I should be happy that you are gaining the better alternative, but..."

"I know," she whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. "You deserve more, as well. Don't deny it."

"That doesn't change what I think."

"I know."

There was a heavy silence between them, weighed down by the frustration and resignation Loki and Freyja felt respectively. They sat on the Bifrost, neither speaking for a long time, before Loki quietly spoke her name.

"Freyja?"

"Yes?"

"Do you recall when we used to sneak out here when we were younger?"

"Yes," she said, smiling as she thought of those nights. "Things were simpler then, when we used to sit here solely exchange stories our people tell."

"Will you tell me one?"

"One you haven't heard?"

"Preferably."

"Alright. Let me think..."


End file.
